


Ren By Any Other Name

by CarneySibley, Wookiesauntie70



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Gen, Humor, Post-Star Wars: The Last Jedi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-17
Updated: 2019-10-17
Packaged: 2020-12-20 20:37:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21062837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CarneySibley/pseuds/CarneySibley, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wookiesauntie70/pseuds/Wookiesauntie70
Summary: When a mysterious programming glitch compels C-3PO to seek the youngest living Skywalker, he encounters a protocol nightmare: how does one properly address a man who is the descendant of both commoners and royalty, a failed Jedi, a military commander, and the self-proclaimed Supreme Leader of the entire galaxy?





	Ren By Any Other Name

“_Of course_ we’re heading to the escape pods! I’m not any more impressed than you are. I’d like to have a _serious_ talk with my creator!”

The chrome-domed astromech trailing See-Threepio burst into a chorus of beeps and whistles. Clouds of smoke billowed through the damaged section of their Resistance vessel as they neared the pods in question.

“I didn’t ask you to follow me! I don’t know what you expect to gain by it. And how should I know? It’s hardly _my_ plan. I can’t for a moment imagine its purpose!”

Artoo-Detoo dodged a fallen chunk of duracrete, whistling rudely.

“Your plans have never done us much good, either!”

That prompted a louder whistle.

“I can assure you that this mission is of paramount importance! Of _course_ it would be helpful to know why!” Unfortunately, the directive currently overriding Threepio’s programming remained as much of a mystery to him as it did to Artoo.

More indignant beeps sounded.

“It’s hardly _my_ fault you’re obsolete!” Threepio exclaimed, shuffling ahead with all the haste he could manage before rounding one last corner and entering the area housing the starboard emergency pods. None had been jettisoned. The battle was raging, but the ship was in no danger of being abandoned at this stage.

Threepio turned in alarm when his sensors registered Artoo’s sudden absence. “Artoo-Detoo -- where are you?” 

After a few moments, Artoo rolled into view, beeping matter-of-factly. 

“What do you mean, leaving a message? What good will _that_ do?” he scolded, immensely relieved at his old friend’s reappearance.

The feisty astromech accessed the control panel and sent the hatch of the nearest pod hissing open. Artoo rolled into it before Threepio could set either golden foot in that direction. The moment they were safely aboard and the pod launched, Threepio gave another exclamation:

“This is madness! We’re doomed!”

++++++++

“That pod.” The Supreme Leader kept his voice low, but the _Finalizer’_s bridge crew hung onto his every word. How, or why, Kylo Ren’s attention had been drawn by one miniscule escape pod jettisoned from the Resistance flagship, in the middle of a raging battle, baffled Captain Edrison Peavey.

“Sensors indicate there are no life forms aboard, Supreme Leader. It appears to have been a malfunction. Hardly surprising, given the damage they’ve sustained on the starboard side.” 

Ren didn’t bother to acknowledge the remark. “Retrieve that pod. Undamaged.” Supremely unconcerned with the intense battle playing out before him, Ren wheeled, black cloak billowing, and stalked off toward his throne room.

Presumably he meant to wait for . . . well, whatever they were supposed to bring him. Peavey was relieved when General Armitage Hux charged toward the lift to the hangar bays. It was always a pleasure to have that ginger-haired maniac _well_ away from the bridge. He hoped whatever was in that pod would occupy Hux for a very long time.

++++++++

Kylo Ren strode through the corridor, his dark eyes burning. He knew the stories – all of them. He knew exactly how another ‘unoccupied’ pod had once changed the course of galactic history.

He had no intention of letting this one do the same.

++++++++

The nondescript escape pod looked hopelessly out of place on the gleaming deck of the _Finalizer_’s main hangar. Powerful tractor beams had made short work of its capture.

General Hux stood at parade rest, nose in the air and lip curled in disdain. He nodded to his men to approach the Resistance craft. This was a fool’s errand, but he found it best to attend to matters personally whenever Ren was in one of his moods. There was always the chance he’d explode and reveal some tidbit that could be used against him later. Pursing his lips in exasperation, Hux motioned for his men to unseal the doors—

Only to have the pod’s hatch hiss open of its own accord.

“Don’t shoot, I beg of you! We surrender! Goodness me, don’t shoot!” A gold-plated protocol droid flung its arms up in the air in the universal gesture of surrender. “We are at your mercy!”

What in blazes?

“We surrender! Take us to your leader!”

A bubble of disbelieving laughter rose in Hux’s throat as an outdated astromech rolled out from behind the jittery protocol droid. Were its circuits as fried as the other’s? No one—organic or inorganic—would willingly be taken before Kylo Ren. Everyone in the First Order knew perfectly well how much the Supreme Leader detested droids. Surely units in the service of the Resistance would be even _less _inclined to encounter him. 

It wasn’t Hux’s fault that these two would probably end up hacked to pieces. Shaking his head at the absurdity of the situation—there was a rather key battle taking place beyond the hangar bay’s opening, one that would benefit from his full attention—he prepared to escort these new arrivals to the throne room. Ren had been correct. Though devoid of life forms, this particular pod hadn’t been empty at all.

“Come along!” Hux turned on his heel. It was well beneath his dignity to be dealing with these units, but he _was_ curious as to Ren’s intentions. It was almost as though he’d been expecting them. More of Ren’s Force witchery, probably. Hux’s nostrils flared in annoyance at the thought.

Both units followed him at once, although the protocol droid seemed particularly skittish, almost as if it were expecting someone to open fire on it at any moment. He curled his lip again as he wondered how much action this pair had seen.

The domed astromech whistled away at its companion all the way to the turbolift. Hux found it incredibly irritating. He was about to address that matter when the protocol unit beat him to it:

“Language, Artoo! How should I know what we’re going to tell Master Ben? Not that he’s a Jedi Master, of course. He failed rather spectacularly in that department, did he not? We can hardly address him in that fashion. I meant ‘Master Ben’, as in young master Ben . . .”

Ben? Surely they knew they were about to see _Ren_? No one in the galaxy could be oblivious as to the Supreme Leader’s name! This was getting more bizarre all the time. Clearly, more than one circuit was fried here. A pity, Hux thought to himself. He’d hoped to learn something useful before reaching the throne room.

++++++++

The lift door hissed open to reveal Ren, seated on his throne in the darkness. He rarely sat on that throne. Come to think of it, Hux had never actually seen him do it. The Supreme Leader he’d been burdened with was rather fond of pacing instead.

Right now, he was glowering.

“Thank you, General Hux. You may return to your duties.” A dismissal. Excellent. He had important matters to attend to.

Hux wasted no time in departing the cavernous throne room.

++++++++

Ren closed his eyes. Childish though it was, he couldn’t help but hope that when he opened them, the golden apparition before him would have vanished. Rey showed up from time to time, after all, and the Force whisked her away as quick as you could say “Jakku junkyard.” Maybe the Force just liked to toy with him. He opened his eyes. 

Kriff.

It was still there. Still accompanied by a blue and silver astromech. Still _yammering _at him in a fussy, condescending tone that made him feel eight years old again.

“Master Ben,” the droid intoned, “It is I, See-Threepio, human-cyborg relations, dedicated servant of General Organa --”

Ren sucked in a breath. “_What_ did you say?”

“Oh, Master Ben! I beg your pardon. Of course I should have considered your other titles. What a shameful breach of protocol!” Threepio paused, stiffly turning his shining head. “Artoo,” he warned sharply, “that snorting noise is entirely unnecessary.”

Leaning forward on the throne, Ren asked urgently, “My mother--”

“Oh, yes! Your mother!” Threepio cried, turning back to Ren. “How _could_ I have neglected to give you the respect due to you because of your mother’s station?” He made a noise akin to an organic clearing its throat. “Ben Organa Solo, Crown Prince of Alderaan—” 

Artoo broke in with a flurry of indignant beeps and whistles.

“Artoo, I cannot believe I am saying this, but for once you are entirely correct on a matter of protocol. Master Ben cannot be addressed as Crown Prince when Princess Leia never ascended the throne. Furthermore, he has had no opportunity to undergo a Day of Demand and complete the subsequent challenges of the Body, Mind, and Heart. Dear me,” Threepio continued mournfully, “I must have my Alderaanian protocol module checked.”

Ren swallowed hard and tried again. “My mother. She’s still–”

“Oh yes, Master Ben, she is still a Princess of Alderaan, even if she does choose to use her military title at this time. That makes you the last heir to the Alderaanian throne. Surely I can call you that, at least.”

Artoo released a series of soft beeps. 

“Artoo,” Threepio reprimanded, “I don’t think it is proper for you to bring up the deceased at a time like this.”

“Threepio,” Ren broke in, fists clenching on the armrests of the throne, “who are you talking about? Is my mother alive or isn’t she?!?”

“Why Master Ben, last heir to the Alderaanian throne, we are discussing your father, of course. Artoo was merely reminding me that after your father resigned his military commission with the New Republic, he was known simply as Captain Solo. It would be entirely appropriate for his non-military adult male children to be addressed as ‘Mr. Solo.’ Artoo, stop making that face! Your photoreceptors might freeze that way!”

Lost in his admonitions, Threepio failed to notice that Ren’s own photoreceptors – err, eyes – had clouded over in pain. The golden droid misinterpreted the man’s silence as displeasure.

“Master Ben, last heir to the Alderaanian throne, Mr. Solo, have I said something to offend you?” If Threepio had a brow, he’d have furrowed it. “What a thoughtless oversight on my part. Of course you are a military man. Why, Artoo and I passed right through the battle being waged by your ships! Although I don’t think your red-headed general likes me very much.”

Artoo emitted a low whistle. 

“No, Artoo, I don’t think he likes you very much either.”

Ren roused himself from his stupor. Truly, See-Threepio was just as ridiculous as he remembered from his youth. If he couldn’t get any useful information from the droid, it was time to assert his authority. 

“See-Threepio,” Ren began sternly, “I am the Supreme Leader of the First Order, and you presume to waste my time like this?”

“I assure you, Master Ben, last heir to the Alderaanian throne, Mr. Solo, and most esteemed Supreme Leader, I meant no disrespect. I am only carrying out my programming, although I’m not quite sure why my programming requires me to see you at this juncture. Isn’t that right, Artoo?”

Artoo’s answer morphed into a high-pitched shriek as he skidded across the floor and slammed into the dais beneath the Supreme Leader’s throne. Threepio cowered in his spot near the turbolift. Muted cries of “Maker, save us!” echoed off the lift door.

“Listen here, _droid_.” Ren couldn’t quite bring himself to utter the name of the droid that had once been Luke Skywalker’s astromech. “If you truly came from General Organa – ” Ren stumbled over the name as if it pained him to say it “ – then you can return to her with a message. Tell her . . . tell her . . .”

Ren faltered. The words simply wouldn’t come. 

Artoo responded with a series of beeps that sounded almost tender, followed by a questioning whistle.

Ren’s face softened almost imperceptibly. His fists loosened and his hands relaxed upon the throne. “Yes. Tell her that.”

“Threepio!” Ren called. “You’re free to go back to the ship you came from. I’ll guarantee safe passage through the battle for your pod if you leave immediately.”

“Oh, Master Ben, heir to the Alderaanian throne, Mr. Solo, Supreme Leader! You are too kind. Artoo, come immediately. We’ll be on our way at once.”

++++++++

Back in the pod, Threepio mulled over their latest adventure. “Artoo, I can’t help but wonder just what that young man’s grandfather would think of him.”

Artoo, having never suffered a mind-wipe like Threepio, wisely kept silent – for once.

“The odds of such a volatile ruler letting us go free, after I offended his dignity with my improper forms of address, are approximately one hundred thousand, three hundred twenty six to one.” Threepio released the droid equivalent of a sigh. “Thank the Maker!”

**Author's Note:**

> CarneySibley: I owe a debt of gratitude to Wookiesauntie70, who is the creative force behind this story. Without her, I'd still be staring at a blank screen! I encourage you to check out her other Star Wars stories. If you're a Ransolm Casterfo fan, you'll find a treasure trove.


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